


let me dance, it gets dramatic from here

by closedcaptioning



Series: sdr2/drv3 crossover rarepairs [9]
Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing, Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: Crossover, F/F, Rare Pairings, and tenko "but you're not the degenerate here" chabashira, featuring: peko "i am a tool" pekoyama, with a side appearance from fuyuhiko "i swear i'm not degenerate" kuzuryu
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-24 09:33:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30070209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/closedcaptioning/pseuds/closedcaptioning
Summary: Tenko has the language of Peko’s silence memorized.
Relationships: Chabashira Tenko/Pekoyama Peko
Series: sdr2/drv3 crossover rarepairs [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2206776
Comments: 8
Kudos: 11





	let me dance, it gets dramatic from here

**Author's Note:**

  * For [VianaDAscolli](https://archiveofourown.org/users/VianaDAscolli/gifts).



Tenko never learned how to dance, but the elegance and grace of the most practiced routine can’t possibly compare to sparring with Peko Pekoyama. Her opponent moves with a fluid feline grace, as though she is made of water. Tenko can hear her own heartbeat in her ears. When Peko strikes, she strikes with the speed and violence of lightning, and Tenko has to be prepared. There is always the tiniest hint — Peko’s scarlet eyes widen behind her glasses, her grip tightens on the hilt of her sword, her stance shifts just slightly, and then she  _ moves _ . Oh, to see the concentration in Peko’s eyes, to know she is the sole target in Peko’s field of vision is both glorious and terrifying. and Tenko relishes every second of their sparring matches. Victory is never assured. Tenko has pinned Peko as many times as she has found herself pressed down into the mat by the swordswoman herself. This uncertainty is part of the thrill.

Peko doesn’t speak often. Her words are limited to “Would you like to spar?” “I win,” “I concede,” and, on one thrilling occasion, “Would you please hand me that water bottle?” Tenko understands; Peko communicates in other ways, and every spar is a conversation. 

Outside of the dojo, the two of them part to go their separate ways, and Tenko tries not to think of how she will have to wait a full week to speak to Peko again in their language of fists and bruises. Peko Pekoyama is a private person, and Tenko respects that. There is a boundary in Peko’s world between her training and her professional life, and Tenko has heard the whispered rumors of a mafia swordswoman, but she tries to brush them off. If Peko wanted Tenko to know, she would have told her.

Then, one afternoon, as the two of them finish up their after-session stretches, Peko interrupts Tenko’s humming (Kaede managed to get Clair de Lune stuck in her head) with the most unexpected question Tenko could imagine.

“Are you free on Friday night?”

Tenko, who is balancing on one foot, wobbles violently. “W-Wha?”

“Are you available on Friday night?” Peko blinks at her inquisitively, and Tenko reminds herself to pick her jaw off the floor.

“U-um. Yeah?”

Peko smiles faintly and Tenko’s heart does a funny dance. “Then I was wondering if you would be willing to accompany me to a function I will be attending.”

“F-Function?” Tenko’s throat is very dry. She drops her balancing stance and gropes for her water bottle on the bench next to her. “L-Like a party?”

Peko considers that for a moment. “I suppose a gala is a sort of party, yes. Black tie attire only, though. Would you consider it?”

“Yes!” Tenko nearly drops her water bottle. “I’d love to!”

Peko’s eyes light up a little, sparkling as she smiles, and Tenko can feel her entire face turn as red as a tomato. “Perfect,” she says softly. “I do believe you will be the ideal date.”

Tenko’s heart all but stops. 

“I’ll pick you up from the dojo at, say, seven?”

Tenko doesn’t know how she finds the breath to agree. Immediately after Peko slings her sword over her shoulder and steps out the door, Tenko collapses onto the training mats, beaming like an idiot.  _ The ideal date _ .

Tenko takes extra care in getting dressed — or at least, she tries to. “Black tie” sounds formal, so she finds an old suit jacket stuffed in the back of her closet, but then she panics, because maybe she shouldn’t be wearing men’s clothes, maybe Peko will think that’s weird, so she adds a skirt, and then her hair looks so bizarre and terrible, so she pulls it into a low ponytail and stuffs the rest of it into a hat, and oh, god, it’s way too late to do anything else, so she sprints out the door and barely manages to make it to the dojo by seven.

Tenko knows right away that something is wrong. Instead of Peko, standing alone, waiting for her, she sees that her sparring partner is accompanied by a smaller silhouette that resolves into the figure of a boy as she approaches. Tenko stops dead. Is her friend being accosted by a degenerate male? She shifts into an offensive stance, but before she can attack, Peko notices her and waves her open with a casualness that belies the clear danger presented by her companion’s scowl.

“Tenko,” she greets, “I’d like to present my…” she hesitates, “friend, Fuyuhiko Kuzuryuu.”

Tenko forces herself to ungrit her teeth. “What’s he doing here?” she asks in what is probably not the friendliest voice, but the boy is frowning at the ground and scuffing his feet like he isn’t any happier than her that he’s here right now, so Tenko thinks she can be excused. 

Peko’s gaze bores into Tenko. “He is here to escort you to the gala.”

“What?” Tenko shouts, and it takes a moment to realize that her cry was echoed by Fuyuhiko.

Peko takes a deep breath. “Young master, you needed a date. I promised you that I would find you the finest person I could.” Peko dips her chin towards Tenko, and the surprise in Fuyuhiko’s eyes is amplified by Tenko’s own shock. “She is kind, noble, powerful, considerate, and a good conversationalist. An ideal match.”

Fuyuhiko’s mouth falls open a little. “Peko — you can’t — are you trying to  _ set me up _ with your sparring partner?”

“Excuse me!” Tenko stomps her foot. “What’s  _ happening _ ?” 

The question was aimed at Peko, but Fuyuhiko is the one who turns to her, frowning. “I’m sorry,” he says, and Tenko can feel rage boiling up in her, how  _ dare _ he try to apologize like that will make everything better, but then he continues, “Peko said so many nice things about you, I was sure — I thought — well, she really seemed to like you.” He clears his throat. “I thought she was finally branching out, taking an interest in someone, putting herself first for once. But —”

“I don’t deserve her.” Peko’s voice cuts through the evening, and Tenko’s eyes go wide. Fuyuhiko spins to face Peko. 

“What’re you talking about?”

“You are the two greatest people I know — and I’m not worthy of either of you.” Peko lowers her eyes, and Tenko notices for the first time how beautiful she looks, a rose tucked into her hair, her hands curled into her sleeves, and her sword still strapped to her back — it’s the last detail that makes something in Tenko relax, reminding her of that silent language she is familiar with from hours of sparring. 

“Peko.” Tenko’s voice is far gentler than she expected. From the looks on Fuyuhiko and Peko’s faces, it’s clear that they were expecting an outburst from her, but Tenko swallows and continues, “At a gala — is there dancing?”

Peko’s eyes are wide. “Yes, I suppose there is.”

Tenko smiles and steps forward.  _ Be brave _ , she thinks, and she reaches out and takes Peko’s hands, calloused and scarred from years of training, into her own. “I don’t know how to dance,” she admits shyly. 

Peko is frozen for a moment, and then she squeezes Tenko’s hands back, and the slight pressure, a reassurance, sends a thrill up Tenko’s spine. “Maybe I —” she cuts her eyes to Fuyuhiko, who Tenko watches out of the corner of her eye, and when he nods firmly, Peko’s eyes focus in on Tenko again. “— maybe I could teach you tonight.” Her voice is cautious, wary, almost unsure of what she’s saying, like she’s testing the unfamiliar feeling of what it means to choose something for herself.

“I’d like that,” Tenko says, almost a whisper, but she thinks of the long afternoons in the dojo, of red flashing eyes and those hands on the sword hilt, and she knows that Peko already has taught her all she needs to know about what it means to dance with someone you love.


End file.
